


Stuck in the Thoughts of an Old One's Head

by orphan_account



Series: Lullabye [23]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Gen, M/M, check the series tags for more., it's late we all know how this goes, lullabye
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-09 16:10:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7808443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A reverse of the previous fic. Patrick's body might be small, but the rest of him sure isn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stuck in the Thoughts of an Old One's Head

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for your patience! hmu on tumblr to check out some stuff i've been writing lately @saverockandsoulpvnk, enjoy this kids!

Pete sighed happily. Finally, he had a whole weekend off, with a free complimentary Patrick all to himself. After last week’s shenanigans, they were both excited for their weekend of relaxing and… not-relaxing.

Patrick's snuffle-breathing while he slept was even louder and cuter than usual to Pete, who leaned over him and watched for a while before shattering his tranquility by pressing his lips to Patrick's ear and blowing aggressively hard.

Blinking adorably in confusion, Patrick woke up and cast around before focusing on Pete and smiling groggily.   
“Twelve o’clock, I think you've slept in long enough,” Pete told him.

  
“M’goin’ bathroom…” Patrick muttered incoherently, all but falling out of bed and stumbling to the bathroom. Pete laid back and closing his eyes.

At some point, Pete drifted back to consciousness enough to hear a small sneeze and smile to himself, before drifting back into his sleepy haze.

He was roused by something straddling his chest, a brief press of lips against his own and something kind of dirty whispered in his ear. Opening his eyes, Pete came face to face with a tiny Patrick, smirking at him.

With a yelp, he scrambled up from the bed, almost crushing the small creature perched on his chest.   
“Patrick, what the f- heck are you _doing_?!” he exclaimed, horrified.

Patrick just laughed, making Pete wonder which horrifying dream world he'd stumbled into, where five year olds know about what this one had just whispered to Pete. “What, are you finally going on that no-swearing kick, Pete?”

  
“What?” Pete mumbled dizzily. “But I… but I _never_ swear in front of you, Ricky. What's going _on_?”

Despite his terror, the instinct to protect Patrick prevailed and Pete did his best to conceal his confusion, trying not to scare Patrick. 

“Ricky?” Patrick squawked. “Shit, Pete, you're not fucking around, are you?”  
Pete shook his head, the two of them coming to the same conclusion at the same time.

  
“Not again,” Pete groaned.

  
“Shit,” Patrick complained.

  
“Patrick! Don't swear,” Pete snapped instinctively, then grimaced and apologised. “I can't get used to all those bad words coming out of that mouth,” he sighed.

Patrick didn't respond, looking thoroughly shellshocked. “Pete, I'm so small,” he panicked, “what the fuck. Oh my God, Pete, I can't even get off the bed!”

  
Blankly, Pete looked up. “What? Of course you can, you do it all the time!”  
Stubbornly, Patrick shook his head, folding his arms and sitting down. “No way in hell. I refuse. That is _waaaay_ too far down, I'll probably snap in half and _die_.”

Instead of pointing out that he was sort of having a toddler tantrum, Pete just smiled to himself. His laughter was uncontainable when Patrick held his arms up to be lifted down, as entitled as ever.

Once in Pete's arms, Patrick clung quite tightly, burying his face in Pete's neck. “The ground is pretty far away,” he hissed. “I don't like it.”

  
“Shh,” Pete soothed, kissing his hair and setting him back safely on Earth.

On the ground, Patrick was still for a while, staring awed at Pete for some reason.   
“Thank you,” he said eventually, shaking his head to clear it. Pete just bent down an inch to ruffle his hair.

“Breakfast?”

***

Walking proved harder than expected. Patrick was in a sort of unfamiliar body, and failed dismally at keeping himself balanced. Just walking along the hallway, he overestimated the size of his legs and stepped too wide, ending up in a heap on the floor.

After that he toddled along very slowly, looking wobbly and unstable and tripping three more times.

When they got to the stairs Patrick outright stopped, digging his heels into the carpet and stubbornly refusing to go any further. Eyeing the stairs distrustfully, he shook his head and folded his arms.   
“No fucking way I'm going down there,” he cried, “I'll die!”

Pete winced at the swearing, alien in his high-pitched chirp.   
“You could slide down on your ass?” Pete suggested unhelpfully. By way of reply Patrick just crooked an eyebrow at him and looked seriously unimpressed, then raised his own arms into the air and made an impatient noise.

“Don't be a bitch, Rick.”

  
Patrick pouted very dramatically.

  
“You're lucky you're cute,” Pete sighed, scooping him up into the air. Small or not, he wriggled happily into Pete's chest and snuffled into his shirt. Pete's revenge was to gallop down the stairs as fast as he could, making the ride as bumpy as possible and jiggling Patrick around no end.

When they got to the bottom of the stairs, Patrick's face was flushed and his eyes were wide and wild.  
“You _asshole_ ,” he hissed, squirming to be let down afree landing a few good kicks to the stomach.   
Despite this, Pete set the fidgeting bundle down gently, aware of how fragile he was. “I don't want you to be spoilt,” he said.

“Don't you be condescending with me, Mr Trust-Fund Soccer-Team Lawyer-Fat her Wentz,” Patrick griped.  
“Ouch.” Pete still wasn't used to the lectures coming out of a five year old mouth, but he didn't say anything.

In the kitchen, rummaging for cereal that wasn't stale, Pete asked Patrick how long he thought this was going to last. Patrick shrugged and guessed that it wouldn't be more than two days, but sounded unsure.

Normally Patrick cooked breakfast on days off, his culinary skills far superior to Pete's cereal pouring prowess. _Normally_ , Pete liked to sneak up behind him and wrap an arm around his waist while he fried eggs, or mouth at his neck and murmur food-based innuendos into the pale skin.

He could tell that Patrick felt out of place too, although he was masking it by dragging a chair to stand on in order to get to the coffee machine. When Pete noticed Patrick filling two cups, not one, he chewed his lip anxiously. Patrick's caffeine tolerance probably wasn't what it normally was, and Pete didn't want to have to deal with a caffeine crazed toddler, at least in body, and the inevitable crash afterwards.

Guiltily, he shuffled up behind Patrick and pressed a kiss into his hair, watching as he softened and leaned back, closing his eyes. Pete had to admit, he grieved for the lazy weekend that had been stolen from him. Rubbing gently up and down Patrick's back under his baggy shirt was about all he could do now, and he had to be the asshole who told Patrick that he wasn't allowed to drink coffee.

“Honey,” Pete whispered reluctantly, “Um, I don't think you should, uh, drink that, just now.”

  
As expected, Patrick whipped round to face him, eyes blazing. As Pete continued, Patrick's expression of betrayal deepened. “Just, you know, because your actual body is pretty small, and um, it'd get worse affected, right? Like, no matter the state of your brain, it'll still affect you like you're, you know. And I think I read it can give you heart problems, in strong doses, for, um, kids.”

Patrick peered at the large mug of almost-black coffee and must have known Pete was right. “Fine,” he said blankly, but something flickered in his eyes for a moment.   
“You can have a sip of mine?” Pete offered, although Patrick's face made him feel like this had made it worse.

Once Patrick decided he was done with fixing Pete with a cold stare, he lifted the mug he'd made for Pete and went to jump down from the chair.

“Hey, careful!” Instantly rushing to Patrick's defence, Pete put steadying hands on Patrick's hips and stopped him from spilling coffee all over himself. It would've been fine if his hands had been their expected size, but he tried to hold the heavy, boiling liquid in one tiny hand that had nowhere near enough strength to stop it unbalancing. On top of that he wanted to clamber the foot or so to the floor, overfull mug in hand.

Pete went to Patrick first, of course, and steadied him. He wasn't stupid enough to try and take the mug from Patrick in this mood, so he just placed a supportive hand on the side and coaxed, “That looks heavy. Can I take it?”

Gritting his teeth, Patrick furiously shook his head and clutched tightly to the mug, preparing to jump down. Suddenly, he stopped short and turned to Pete with his big blue eyes looking sad.   
“Wait, I'm so sorry… you're totally right, that's heavy and I'll probably spill it everywhere if I jump down. I don't know why I'm being a dick,” he sighed. “I'm sorry.”

Pete laughed, relieved. “That's okay. You're stressed out, I get it. I just don't want you to get hurt.”

Patrick shut his eyes. “I know, Pete, I know that. I love you,” he smiled tightly. Pete placed the cup down on the side and let Patrick lean his head into Pete's chest, breathing deeply while Pete rubbed his back.

“You okay?” Pete asked, concerned, when he pulled away. Patrick just nodded and rubbed his eyes like he always did when he was trying to calm down. “Do you want me to call your mom?”  
At that suggestion, Patrick shook his head frantically, letting Pete help him down from the chair and saying nothing as he put it back in its place at the table.

Pete took the mug from the counter and brought two bowls of cereal with him, Patrick's in a full sized bowl but barely half full, Pete's practically overflowing. Amazingly, Patrick let Pete help him into his chair and set about eating his cereal.

Pete turned to Patrick to see him struggling with Pete's steaming mug of coffee, trying to take his promised sip. But all Pete saw was small Patrick with large amount of very hot liquid that he was holding incredibly precariously. He jumped towards Patrick and snatched the cup just as he was about to tip it to his mouth.   
“Woah, love, watch out! You nearly spilled that on yourself, you could've burnt yourself really badly.”

Sighing, Patrick drooped in on himself as Pete stood up and poured some into a small espresso cup, adding a little cold water to cool it down. He rubbed his knuckles lightly through Patrick's hair as he sat back down, offering him the tiny cup and winking.

“Rick, look at me,” he sighed at Patrick's forlorn expression, cupping his chin and guiding it up. “I'm not mad, I just don't want you to burn yourself.”

Patrick nodded silently. After a moment of staring sullenly at the cup he picked it up and took a small sip. Pete stuck his tongue out - leftover habit. Thankfully, Patrick just returned it. Pete winced anyway at his slip, hoping he wouldn't make any worse ones later. It was so hard to remember who Patrick still was behind the chubby cheeks and really tiny hands.

***  
After breakfast Patrick had scampered off and Pete had stood listening to the sound of his bare feet clattering on the floor. His role, considering Patrick's current state, was somewhat ambiguous, so he wasn't sure if he should go after the sort-of kid or not.

By the time he'd decided to trust Patrick not to destroy himself or anything else (because he was still technically responsible and also wouldn't appreciate Pete's hovering, and a mad Patrick was a terrifying prospect) Patrick had skittered back, abruptly hugged Pete's legs, and disappeared again.

Touched but confused, Pete wandered off to sit in his room. Worse than ever, he missed his boyfriend. Usually, when Patrick was small, Pete had bright smiles and easy comfort, but time he just felt lost and faraway and unneeded. He could do coddling and he could do… whatever it was he did to deal with Patrick usually. But not knowing exactly which to use, or what kind of blend of both, made him feel unsettled and uncomfortable with his own… soulmate.

“Babe?” Pete yelled, swallowing the ‘y’.  
“In here!” came the muffled yell that Pete followed to its source.

Patrick was sitting on the couch with his red electric guitar and his eyes were suspiciously puffy. He wasn't playing it - it seemed like all his strength was used just to cling to it hard enough that it didn't fall to the floor. Puzzled, Pete stooped down to meet his eyes and ask what's wrong. Patrick shook his head and clung tighter to the instrument, snuffling.

Pete had resolved not to baby him, but if he was going to _act_ like a baby… Snatching the precarious guitar and placing it safely on the floor, he lifted Patrick into his arms. Instead of resisting, Patrick sighed loudly and burrowed into Pete's shoulder, legs coming up to cling at his sides.

“What's up, Rick?”

“Uh,” Patrick rubbed at his eyes furiously, “It's nothing. It's embarrassing.”

Pete jiggled him up and down gently to get him to talk, feeling weirdly self conscious by the time Patrick said, “I was trying to play guitar and I forgot, but then it was too heavy and my hands were way too small. And then I got really mad about it, it was dumb. Fuck, I think my emotional reactions are like-” he looked down at himself with a grimace.

Pete snuck a sloppy kiss to Patrick's cheek. “Aw, it's okay. I know music gets you hard-” that was weird as fuck to say to the kid in his arms, no matter who it was, but he knew if he censored himself Patrick would notice it and that would be worse- “But you can go a couple days without playing guitar. You could always use the one I got you?”

Patrick just shook his head. “My fingers will just be too clumsy and slow and I'll get mad again.” He sighed heavily and his breath hit Pete's neck, making him squirm at the ticklish feeling.

“Well… would you prefer to watch masterchef re-runs with me in the bedroom?”

***

After Patrick kept complaining that he couldn't see the screen, he ended up sprawled on his front across Pete's lap. His face rested  in his hands as he stared raptly.

Pete watched his eyes droop shut despite his interest and realised with a start that Patrick's 5 year old self usually had a nap around one in the afternoon, and it was closing in on two soon. And they hadn't even had lunch.

“Right, get up before your eyes go square,” Pete ordered briskly, accidentally displacing Patrick as he stood. “Time for lunch.”

Patrick didn't move, eyes fixed on the screen.  
“Come _on_ , all the food is making me hungry,” Pete whined.

“You can't tell me what to do,” Patrick said smugly, without turning his head from the screen to face Pete. He sounded pretty happy about the fact that he'd be perfectly within his rights to throw a tantrum if Pete tried to boss him around like he was five. And though a lot of things had changed since then, Patrick's ear piercing tantrums really hadn't.

“I know you're hungry. I can hear your stomach rumbling. Come _on_.”

“Don't wanna,” Patrick said petulantly from the bed, and Pete started. “Fuck off,” he added, and yeah, that was better.

“I can't tell you what to do,” Pete mused, “But I'm a lot stronger than you are, so I could just pick you up and make you.” He didn't give Patrick any time to make his own choice before he was squealing as Pete hoisted him the air.

“This is kind of cool,” Patrick admitted, once he stopped fighting. “You should carry me all the time.”

Pete was fighting a smile at the clinging warmth of Patrick as he deliberately took huge, bumpy strides. “I do. Unless you want me to try when you're not small, but I don't know that it'll be the same.”

***

After the third time Patrick almost fell off the couch as he closed his eyes, Pete decided he had to say something.  
“‘Trick?” he began cautiously. “Um, don't kill me for this but are you tired? Because you keep falling asleep and usually you have a nap around about now.”

  
Patrick squinted curiously at him. “Not tired. It's afternoon.”

“I know, but your body is,” Pete explained, messing with Patrick's hair. He was so tiny, Pete wanted to scoop him up and keep him forever. That was basically Pete's life plan at this point - the keeping him forever part anyway.

Patrick yawned. Aware that he'd just proved Pete's point, he scowled.   
“No, I don't wanna go to bed yet,” he argued.

Pete pointed out that he'd probably just fall asleep on the couch anyway, but if he went to bed now Pete promised to do the dishes for the next week. Patrick, ever in favour of Pete helping around the house, put his arms around Pete’s neck and let himself be carried to the bedroom.

He was basically asleep by the time Pete dropped him in their bed, but he turned over and murmured something when Pete kissed his forehead. Pete set an alarm on his phone for twenty minutes’ time. Usually, Patrick woke up of his own accord but right now wasn't exactly usual, so he thought he'd be safe, so Patrick would sleep properly in the evening.

  
“Sleep well, love,” he whispered, turning out the light.

***

“I thought you said you weren't tired?” Pete teased. Patrick, clinging like a baby monkey, shook his head.

  
“Did… not…” he mumbled sleepily.

  
“Come on now,” Pete urged, shaking Patrick very gently, “You need to get up or you won't sleep tonight.”

Some sort of incoherent protest bubbled out of Patrick's lips in answer, marred by sleep and the shoulder his face was ever buried in.

“Patrick,” Pete hummed in the tone he always used to signal the end of his patience, when Patrick should stop messing around and do as he's told. Immediately, the he snapped upright and started frantically wiggling his legs to be put down.

“You okay?” Pete asked, ruffling Patrick's baby hair and smiling cautiously.

  
“Dunno,” Patrick admitted. “It's still weird.”

  
Nodding in sympathy, Pete suggested, “You can do whatever you want, I just want you to be safe and happy. I'll go with whatever makes you feel comfortable.”  
He attempted to suggest his meaning without being too blunt and upsetting Patrick, who shrugged carelessly and went running off on clumsy legs to find something fun.

Pete winced when, inevitably, he tripped up. The sound of hysterical crying was heard from the next room, banshee-like screaming that had Pete hurrying to its source. He knelt at Patrick's side, where he was managing not to border into five-year-old tantruming, but nevertheless looking incredibly sorry for himself.

As though nothing was different, he crawled into Pete's lap and wiped his nose on Pete's clean hoodie, tiny hands pressed into his eyes to try and stop himself crying.  
“I'm sorry,” he snuffled, “It just hurts so _bad_ and I shouldn’t be this _sad_ about it but I just wanna cry about _everything_.”

Pete fought the urge to laugh. It was cute as hell, even if he felt bad. “It's okay, Rick. You can't help it. I'll still love you even when you cry.”

Embarrassed, Patrick shook his head and slapped weakly at Pete’s arm. “Don't be cheesy,” he scolded.

Patrick's knee barely had a scrape on it, but Pete bandaged it up anyway so he could feel like it was being treated. He still acted like he couldn't walk all day, so Pete had to carry him around. They lay sprawled on the bed watching masterchef until it was dark, Patrick taking tiny sips of coffee when he thought Pete wasn't looking.

When Patrick had to ‘go to the bathroom’ Pete stared at him in surprise.   
“Already? Wow, that was short. Like you, haha. Sorry.” Pete ducked his head guiltily under the weight of Patrick's glare.

Patrick shrugged, blushing slightly at having to talk about it. “Can I, can I go please?” He muttered, hopping from foot to foot and looking antsy. Pete waved him off with a pious grin, knowing that Patrick hated so much as talking about it, let alone actually changing back in front of anyone.

Pete threw a shirt after him and heard Patrick's grateful yell.

When Patrick emerged back from the bathroom, Pete snuck up behind him and hoisted him bridal-style into the air. Patrick screamed, flailing around in fright before he settled back with a laugh.   
“What're you doing?” he said breathlessly.

“You said I should carry you more,” Pete explained, nibbling at his big-again Patrick's neck.

Patrick rolled his eyes.


End file.
